Dandelion Wine
by Ms Starlight
Summary: Max and Logan take a walk in the park on a warm, spring night.


Rating

Rating: G

Disclaimer: I own no rights to DA. I'd like to apologize now to Ray Bradbury for stealing his title…but I provide a wonderful little excerpt at the bottom.

Setting: Disregard everything that has happened as of late...(i.e. Logan out of wheelchair, Max/Logan being an item, etc.)

A/N: K- I realize I've been doing next to nothing in terms of fan fiction lately, and I really should be beaten or something for it, but I've been soooo busy (I did 12 1/2 hours of homework last weekend, I kept track) and this little fic alone has taken over a month to complete.

Dedication: To Nick (no, not _you_, "McNick McMann")

Dandelion Wine

Max watched Logan out of the corner of her eye. The night air was slightly humid and the moon was a giant, glassy orb hanging low in the sky. Glowing a dim orange, every blemish of the elegant marble's surface was visible. Max felt as if she could touch it, and she fought the urge to reach for the reflection she saw of it on Logan's glasses.

Winter was over, and a wet Seattle spring had come to fruition. Flowers and emerald grass filled the suddenly bright city. Everyone seemed to be fully in the summer spirit, even Normal had tossed caution to the wind and gotten a rather daring tan. Although, after noticing his said tan, he then devoted himself to never getting one again, convinced that he was teetering on the edge of a horrific melanoma related death.

Max smiled softly, feeling the dewy grass brush against the sides of her sandaled feet. The longer, warmer days were even making _her_ feel a bit impulsive. Logan too seemed drawn in, agreeing to her idea for a late, moonlit walk in the park. Before asking him, she braced herself for his usual reply that one of the prerequisites for her suggestion was the ability to walk. She hated when he felt sorry for himself, and she hated that his arguments were so logical that it was difficult for her to form an intelligent sounding rebuke.

On this night, however, his more irritating nature had given way to a calm Logan who seemed unusually close to peace.

He'd offered her wine when she walked in, her hair slightly damp from a sudden June storm and her mind tired from a long day at work. It wasn't odd for him to offer her wine, but he generally would give her all of the wine's vital statistics as he offered. This drink remained nameless and ageless. The crystal flute he handed her, not waiting for her reply, was filled with thin, bubbly honey. Titling her head, she peered through it, able to see Logan's distorted image on the other side.

The crisp, golden substance slid wonderfully down her throat, tingling her tongue and stomach. It trailed warmly down her core, bringing her once again vibrantly to life. It inhabited her blood, setting her skin and muscles on fire. The warm tingling, as if summer itself was working its way through her body, was an entirely new sensation to Max.

"Any good?" Logan had asked, making Max wonder not for the first time what it would be like to be as selectively unaware as Logan could.

"It's alright," she'd replied coolly, gazing at him over the top of her glass. He nodded, his eyes cast down toward the floor. There was only one time that Max distinctly remembered Logan looking her in the eye without shielding himself since the accident. The night that he'd stood up from his chair, his eyes had locked for a few heart-thundering moments with her own. He'd been a different man then: confident and hopeful.

"Let's go for a walk," she'd suggested, feeling that Logan would be best served by getting out of the house.

Presently, they found themselves walking together under a dark sky sewn with a hundred stars and dominated by a giant, harvest moon. The moonlight was kind to Logan, cascading over his clear-cut features to enhance them with an attractive gentleness. He propelled himself past her, his arms working hard. Watching his muscles bunch and release, Max wanted him to stop.

"Let's just sit for a while," she suggested, catching up to him. He spun around to face her, surprisingly fast.

Again, he acquiesced with little question. A gentle wind rustled Max's hair like a lover's touch, carrying with it the heady scent of flowers blooming in a nearby field. She abandoned herself to the night for a moment, tilting her head back and hiding in its warm, languid curves. Moonlight and nectar weaved together into a heady perfume that sunk deeply into Max's permeable skin.

Logan's hand brushed her own, bringing her eyes open. He was looking up toward the sky, a shadow of the stars once again obstructing her vision of his eyes. It was almost like the entire sky itself existed within him, bleeding out from his soul to burst forth from his beautiful eyes. Max's breath caught in her chest, and for long moments she struggled to find it once again.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" he asked, his voice hazy.

"What is?" Max asked.

"The moon…the stars…everything," he shrugged. "You can look up at the sky, and see everything: the past, the future…_forever_."

"I never thought about it," Max shrugged, avoiding looking directly at the stars but focusing instead upon the moon. She preferred it to the tiny specs of light. On the moon she could see contrasts and land features. Still hanging unusually low in the sky, it was magnified to the point where when Logan shifted his gaze over to it the image filled his entire eye. The world bled away when they looked at the moon, taking in its curves and valleys. For long moments Max stood beside Logan and stared up into the sky, vaguely aware of the wine that still coursed hotly through her blood.

Logan sighed, his breath coming out in a long, even huff. Max watched his right hand idly play across his knee. His left hand was picking the heavy, dewy leaves off a nearby bush. His thumb circled in the soft bowl the leaf formed under his careful ministrations. Max felt something jar loose inside of her as she watched him, and she felt the heady rush of the honey wine she'd drank earlier as it surged up into her brain. She could feel the heat of it just below her skin, could almost smell a crisp sweetness in the air.

She continued to watch him in a dreamy trance, allowing her own hand to unconsciously brush against his shoulder as she passed. He didn't look up, or even say anything. The only sign that he was aware of the contact was a shudder that ran visibly through him. Max could almost feel her own muscles quiver involuntarily.

He was breathing in an out with long, deep breaths. Max's own lungs drug heavily on the humid, honey laden air. Nearby fields of flowers - weeds to the unobservant eye - bobbed gently on an almost imperceptible breeze. It wasn't even so much a breeze as the liberal movement of fragments of air. They tingled Max's senses, even from a distance, and she wondered distantly if Logan was aware of them as well.

Logan, however, seemed to have a more local focus. His eyes were narrowed as he looked up at her. For a moment, she stared back at him. Not for the first time that night, something moved inside of her. While at first it had been little more than a nudge, it was turning quickly into a cascade. She felt things crumbling, crashing...hitting bottom. Everything tumbled, turned, and then hit her with amazing force. She physically rocked back on her heels and broke eye contact with Logan.

The moon seemed to roll toward her, teasing and knowing. The wine too was dancing through her head in accompaniment to the new, brilliant chord that her body was singing. It was the song of spring; of long days and humid nights. There was something else mingled with the sense of green grass and thunder though, something that had been brushing at Max's heels all night long until finally it pounced: love.

Shaking her head, she dared to look back down at Logan.

"I don't suppose you have any more of that wine...do you?"

*END*

"And there, row upon row, with the soft gleam of flowers opened at morning, with the light of this June sun glowing through a faint skin of dust, would stand the dandelion wine. Peer through it at the wintry day - the snow melted to the grass, the trees were reinhabited with bird, leaf, and blossoms like a continent of butterflies breathing on the wind. And peering through, color sky from iron to blue.

Hold summer in your hand, pour summer in a glass, a tiny glass of course, the smallest tingling sip for children; change the season in your veins by raising glass to lip and tilting summer in." - Ray Bradbury, from _Dandelion Wine_ (one of the **best** books on the face of the Earth, in case you were wondering....)


End file.
